


Bacula to the Drawing Board

by Write_like_an_American



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (lightly insinuated but still very much there), Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fix-It, How to talk about Shit That Upsets You In Sex: a lesson with Yondu Udonta, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rimming, Size Difference, Size Kink, Team as Family, Triggers, but... reversed, going to dad for advice, raccoon sex, two abused people healing slowly together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American
Summary: "You're mine," Rocket tells him, and it's like the ground drops from beneath his feet.In which Rocket keeps triggering Yondu, everyone has Past Shit, and Yondu has a long-overdue talk with his daddy. No, not Rocket. The other one.





	Bacula to the Drawing Board

**Author's Note:**

> **With a title courtesy of the wonderful Coffee_Mage, and cheered on by the lovely folks in the Fourth. Thank you for enabling me; you guys are the best. Obligatory warning: a few lines in this fic hint at past rape. Quite a few lines describe past abuse. There's nothing overly graphic, but the connotations are there. Please take that under consideration before reading!**

Rocket wasted a small eternity looking him over. Or at least, it _felt_ like every chronometer on board turned slowly, when you were hard and impatient and too damn old to be curled on your back with your legs in the air like a lovebot.

Or a dead Orloni. The first image was marginally sexier. Yondu just hoped it was more accurate.

Rocket liked to lead these games. He was never sadistic; as soon as Yondu snarled for him to _lick my hole before I find someone who will_ _,_ he slithered in close, all clever coarse hands and quick blackbird eyes.

Fur tickled all those tender places that Yondu kept stowed beneath oiled leather and spacegrime. No faff, no sweet nothings: Rocket pushed the dangling sack to one side and rolled his tongue into his ass.

It was good. It was always good. A lovebot could finger him, pull at the plates on his dick, twang the tiny ligaments between them and make shocks cascade down his spine. But while Yondu could watch them take him apart, they couldn't watch back.

He craned over his chest. Rocket bobbed away, ears twitching to the rhythm. He was tiny, lost amid swathes of bright scarred blue.

So fucking small.

There was something twisted about it, something that left him shaky and a little mortified, just from the thought that he let someone Rocket's size hold him down. Because that was the point. _He could fight Rocket off._ He could kick him away, roll out from under him, easy, so easy.

The only reason Yondu was here was cause he wanted to be. And weren't that the most shameful thing of all?

Why that made his dick plump, Yondu didn't know. But as much as it freaked him out, he couldn't deny he liked it, loved that nasty squirm in his belly, the little voice at the back of his mind that berated him for being _weak._

He'd lived under the whip of that voice most of his damn life. Ever since Stakar made him lead his own hoard of thieves, men scraped from the galaxy's gutter who wouldn't have thought twice about cutting him down the moment they got the chance.

Now that was past. And Yondu could flaunt this, lay under Rocket and let that voice nibble away, and growl _so what_ right back at it.

Yondu put a hand down to assure himself it wasn't just perspective, making Rocket look tiny against his bulk. He groaned when it spanned Rocket's skull, squashing his whiskers to the flat of his snout.

That snout was busy: rootling away under Yondu’s balls like it was trying to squirm inside. Yondu jerked, abdomen jumping against loose pouchskin. His whine left him in judders. He wanted to hook Rocket close, pin him with his tongue against his hole, squeeze him tighter, nearer, _deeper…_

But that sounded like a great way to suffocate the guy. Cramping his thighs apart took more concentration than he was capable of.

“C’mon.” He held himself spread, nails cutting new lines on his inner thighs. “C’mon, you lil’ Rat bastard, _c’mon,_ fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me…_ ”

All in all, it was going flarking _stupendously_ until Rocket opened his mouth.

“You smell of me,” Rocket purred. He licked his chops before diving back down. “You _taste_ of me. Mine, Blue. _Mine –_ augh, fuck! Yondu, what the hell?”

Yondu unwrapped his legs from Rocket's neck.

“Uh,” he said, pressing on his chest to slow the panicky rattle. “Guess I got a lil' carried away.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yondu hated nothing more than _talking shit through_.

Insecurities were supposed to be repressed under big shoulder pads and a shit-eating grin. Every man knew that.

Calm discussions left a skeezy taste in his mouth, like from that time Stakar convinced him to try therapy. Man-to-man chats made him queasy, and a civil debate would have him outright sprinting for the exit.

But this was different. This was _Rocket._ Not some personable PhD with a sofa that smelt cleaner than Yondu did, who prescribed him group sessions and meditation as if dwelling on his past would make it go away.

Rocket hadn’t suffered the same crap as Yondu. Yondu hadn't suffered the same crap as Rocket. But it was close enough. They'd both been ripped to pieces and remodelled (quite literally, in Rocket's case). Neither of them squeezed for details. There weren't no morbid curiosity here; just a sense of quiet camaraderie that bound similar souls together.

But camaraderie could only cover so much discomfort. Yondu had to get this off his chest before it stamped itself there like a slave-brand.

“Take this,” he said to Peter. “Me and Rat got words in need of swappin’.”

He deposited the lump of snoring Twig, scooped from his favorite spot on Yondu's shoulder.

The four of them sprawled across the _Quadrant's_ observation deck, transfixed by the wheel of overhead stars. Family bonding, or some shit. Yondu hadn’t agreed to it, but they’d ambushed him and dumped the sleeping tyke on his shoulder to stop him stomping off in search of a quieter place to brood.

Peter received the shrunken Flora Colossus (Flora Minimus?) with a frown. Rocket sat hunched, tail flicking irritably, while Yondu's pokerface was exemplary as ever.

“Uh. That sounds ominous.”

“Ain't nothing that'll get me claw marks.”

He spoke with more confidence than he felt. Rocket had yet to say a word. Right stubborn little shit he could be; far too much like the a-hole Yondu saw in the mirror.

“Just take the kid to bed and go find Greenie.”

“Her name’s Gamora.”

“Yeah, well. She an’ Krags have been scouting through my old contacts, seein’ if any jobs flag up. You can help, if you wanna be useful.”

“Sure, dad.”

Issuing orders to Peter felt strange. Stranger yet was having him obey.

Strangest of all? _Dad._ Baring what they’d never acknowledged to the air, without accompanying fists or whistles.

Yondu swallowed dry. He looked away.

Stakar picked them up just beyond Ego’s blast radius. Yondu’d been absent for a month – present in body but not in mind.

By now, he’d heard the story ten times over; how Ogord whisked him to a cryo-chamber before welcoming the Guardians to his proto-planet sized base, extending his hospitality for as long as they needed it. Since then, unspoken things had been creeping to the light like worms from the earth after rainfall, surfacing faster than Yondu could stomp them down.

Peter called him dad.

Yondu didn't punch him for it, not unless he was in a really bad mood.

Gamora let Peter hold her, as they watched Nebula steer her M-ship into deepspace in search of revenge.

Kraglin practiced with his arrow, and Yondu wished him the best of luck with it.

And Rocket...

Well. He and Rocket found each other. That was unexpected enough. Yondu's past relationships had been tempestuous – highly destructive but short-lived, supernova that burst and faded on the bleak black canvas of his life. He never bedded down with someone he cared about. He certainly never invested much in keeping them.

So when the little guy muttered: “You're breaking up with me, ain’t you?” Yondu did something he’d never consider for any other sod. He swallowed his grievances rather than shouting them in the rat's furry, miserable face.

“The hell? No! Dammit, Rat. C'mon – why'd you always think that?”

Rocket shrugged. His fur hung in bedraggled matts, like the humidifier was malfunctioning again. His ears drooped, and his fists wrung tight around the seams in his jumpsuit.

Yondu knew why. This was where their sob stories differed. Rocket had always been a repulsive little monster (his own words, not Yondu's). Yondu... well, he hadn't been so lucky.

“Guess I'm just makin’ myself ready for the inevitable,” said Rocket dully. “This way it ain’t too much of a shock.”

Yondu resisted the urge to knead his temples. Patience, he reminded himself. Rocket was young, despite his claims for emotional maturity. If Yondu had minimal experience in this field, Rocket had none whatsoever.

“Ain't breakin' up with ya, idjit,” he said. “Just wanted to talk. ‘Bout... stuff.”

Rocket's gaze swum up. Hope shone through the cracks in his sarky facade. His eyes were liquid black, and he plucked at the hemline on his jumpsuit, which had been snipped and turned up and turned up again, gathering loose threads under his claws.

“You... you did? What about?”

Aw hell. Weren't no way he'd take this other than wrong. Yondu couldn't do it – couldn't let him feel rejected, even for an instant. The kid had issues, and Yondu liked him enough not to pile on more.

“Nothin' serious,” he lied.

Yondu'd been faking smiles for years. He had a different one for every occasion: charming beams, smug smirks, a wardrobe of expressions he could don and doff like layers of leather.

In short, he'd been avoiding his problems with a wink and a smirk since long before scientists plucked a kit from a litter and slapped a processing unit on its brain.

Rocket frowned at him. “Are you constipated?”

Yondu's warm grin wavered. “No.”

“Hey, you got a mouth. One hole's blocked, I use the other.”

Crude lil' shit. Usually, Yondu liked it – his sensibilities weren't the most delicate. Today though, his chuckle sounded fake even to himself.

Rocket bent forwards. He sucked at broadcasting concern, but did his best: tail perked and attentive, ears swivelled forwards. "What's up, Blue? The hell's going on? Your old boss being a dick?”

“Stakar an' me are good.”

“Mm-hmm. Mutual avoidance tactics. That's an odd definition of 'good', Blue.”

Yondu elbowed him. “Shaddup.”

 

But unwittingly or otherwise, Rocket had given him an out.

According to the Ravagers, Yondu’s sacrifice negated all the shit he'd pulled in the past. Yondu wasn't convinced – it would take more than one lousy galaxy-saving venture to rid him of the hundred dead kids on his conscience. 

 

Yet for the most part, his old friend left him alone – whether out of lingering animosity or sheer awkwardness, Yondu couldn't tell.

It suited him fine. He survived three decades without Ogord, and would happily survive three more. There had been times like on Contraxia, times when the world looked bleak and Peterless, when he would've licked Stakar's boots if the man only rekindled their farce of a _family._ But for the most part, Yondu did what he did best, and adapted.

They all had; him, Stakar, Aleta, Charlie, Martinex, Krugarr and Mainframe. None of them were immune to time.

The most correspondence that passed between him and his old crew was an unsigned comm message saying “Glad we didn’t have to waste fireworks”. He suspected it was from Aleta, but she’d eviscerate him if he confronted her, and he didn’t fancy another fortnight in the cryo tube.

All in all, things were tense. Yondu couldn’t deny it. And if Rocket saw through his lies – well. He'd simply have to tell the truth. Not the whole truth, mind you – he had _some_ pride. But enough of it to send his furry companion snuffling after the wrong scent.

“Yeah,” he said, dejectedly. “Mutual avoidance tactics. S’getting old.”

“Like you.”

“Har-har-har.”

Rocket guffawed at his own joke, smacking Yondu repeatedly on the shin. Idiot. Yondu snorted.

“Awirght. We’re done. Les head to quarters, get some shut-eye-”

“Wait, wait...” Rocket wiped his eyes, still sniggering. “You seriously just wanted to tell me that you miss your old work buds? I ain't buyin' it. Look, if ya want me to talk to them, all you gotta do is ask nicely. Say please.” Pause. “Or give me a blowjob. I'm not that fussy.”

Yondu lifted a hairless brow. “I don't wanna see you dead.”

“An' I don't wanna see you sad.” Assured that Yondu wasn't criticizing him, Rocket's confidence returned. He pushed onto his toes, snout brushing Yondu's nose. “I'll sort this out, Blue. Don't you worry.”

The kid liked to feel useful. No harm letting him try.

“Sure,” Yondu said. “Don't piss off Aleta though. Can't stop her makin' you main course.”

He clamped on the guilty niggle. He hadn't _failed._ Hadn't _lost his nerve,_ the moment he came face-to-muzzle with Rocket's quivering whiskers.

He was _Yondu Udonta_. He said what he thought, took what he wanted. He wouldn't let _sentiment_ get in the way of a conversation, not if it needed to be said.

Rocket closed that final inch, squashing their ill-fitting mouths together. His claws dug into Yondu's shoulders, and he growled “You're mine”, chest vibrating like a tiny subwoofer.

Nausea. Big blue hands gripping his thighs. Yondu sighed and shut his eyes.

“Sure I am,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

If there was one thing Yondu knew about Rocket, it was that when he set his mind on something he always saw it through. Yondu peeled back his eyelids next morning to a buzzing comm watch. Stakar’s callsign exploded against his wall in a magnesium-bright flash.

He groaned, and tried to jam his head under whatever he was using as a pillow. That pillow turned out to be Rocket, who yawned, kicked his hindleg a few times, and elbowed him in the casing of his burnt-out fin.

“Oh no you don’t,” he mumbled.

The _Quadrant’s_ dodgy temperature gauge was up to its usual tricks; Rocket’s jumpsuit plastered to Yondu’s skull with sweat. Yondu pried him off, wincing. A pair of sleepy eyes observed him at nose-brushing range, reflecting the light that escaped from the sheets Yondu’d used to muffle his glowing watch.

“You wanted to talk to him. I got you an audience.”

Yondu huffed hot air on Rocket’s belly. “How’d you manage that,” he grumbled, jaws making disconcertingly loud pops around his yawn.

Rocket’s shrug was of the constrained sort that meant he was hoping for praise. “You said not to piss off Aleta. I pissed off Aleta.”

That got Yondu awake. He clapped for the lights, ignoring the throb in his skull.

“You _what?_ Are you crazy? She eats lil’ things for you for breakfast!” Then, at Rocket’s snigger: “Literally! She eats ‘em for breakfast! I’ve seen her do it! Fuck, she’d rip the titanium right outta yer spine and use it to pick her teeth.”

Rocket smirked, running a claw over yellowed incisors. “Funny. She said somethin’ similar. Do you guys get all your threats from the same book, or…?”

“I ain’t kiddin’! The other captains, they’re all flarkin’ nuts in their own special ways...”

“I see why you fit in,” Rocket drawled.

“ _But_ ,” Yondu continued, shoving Rocket’s chest lightly enough that he wasn’t knocked over, “Aleta’s top loco of the lot. The hell did you say to her?”

Rocket’s grin grew sleazier. He looked disgustingly pleased with himself. “That if she didn’t get Stakar to comm you and accept your official apology, you were gonna give it to her instead. And that you were gonna cry.”

Oh, that little _bastard_. Yondu scrunched his nose.

“Yeah, I wouldna believed it either. But the lot of you have changed since you last saw each other – I mean, here’s you playin’ happy families with Quill and Groot and shackin’ up with me. Guess they don’t know you no more.”

There was a smug lilt to his voice. Yondu wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss away or punch it.

“Guess not,” he said.

He couldn’t be mad – not really. Confronting Stakar was on his list of shit-to-do. Until he and Rocket had their shindig on the Observation Deck, it had been significantly lower down it – but whatever.

He asked for this. Rocket provided. If Yondu aired his actual grievances, no doubt Rocket would respond in kind.

And yet... he couldn’t. It meant something to Rocket: staking his claim on him, marking him with his scent, sinking his teeth into Yondu’s chest, arms, thighs, anywhere that wasn’t yet scarred.

Calling him _his._

He didn’t mean it like Yondu was a thing. Yondu knew that. He was talking about a reciprocal ownership. Yondu was his and he was Yondu’s. But when you were prised apart by a furry fist, shitty thoughts and shittier memories clamoring like angry bilgesnipe, that was a hard detail to remember.

Rocket patted his cheek. “You’re zoning again.”

Yondu thinned his eyes. “Make one senility joke and we’re over. Yer worse than Quill sometimes, I swear.”

“Ew! Don’t compare me to your _son!_ Man, that’s nasty. Unless you wanna turn it around and call me“ –

“Same goes for daddy-jokes.”

“Spoilsport.” Rocket’s snout nudged the tip of his nose, a clammy kiss. “Go on,” he said, and the warm reverberation of his voice made something soften in Yondu’s chest, like a parasite was liquefying his lungs.

“Go see your friend. But no more mutual avoidance, battery stealing, or diving into space without suits. You got that, Blue?”

Yondu tilted his head so they slotted together, beard grazing the wisps under Rocket’s chin. “I’ll tell Aleta ya taste better slow-roasted,” he breathed, and the softness spread to his heart when Rocket laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

Stakar looked like Yondu remembered. Old. Weary. Fatigued by the grind of a galaxy that had taken his children from him and so much more besides.

Barely three days passed between the near-skirmish on Contraxia and Ego's destruction, and another four weeks pootled on after Yondu was fished from the void.

(That was no metaphor. Martinex snapped a shot of him and Quill being buffeted along in the _Starhawk’s_ salvage net. Yondu made him delete it, but the bastard was too smart not to make copies.)

The Ravager admiral had been relaxed on Contraxia, anticipating a sweet, artificially heated hole to clamp on his netherbits. When he saw Yondu, he snapped into fight-mode: solar wings sizzling, teeth grated.

But as he snagged Yondu by the collar and drew him in, Yondu had seen the weary bags under his eyes, the lines that crumpled around the admiral’s scowl. Proof Stakar was as tired of this as he was.

The same exhaustion weighed heavy on him now.

Would it have been easier on him, if Yondu died out there? Then dealing with him would be a matter of budgeting.

Spare a quart of fuel for his trip to the incinerator. Fork out for half-dozen fireworks. A grudging funeral, for a Ravager by name alone.

“Stop shrinking before you shrivel away,” came the quiet order. “You can only break our hearts so many times before I stop forgiving you, Yondu.”

All of a sudden, he wanted to hit something. “Ya mean yer actually gonna forgive me?”

“I intended on it.”

Yondu’s laugh rung hollow and brittle as the rest of him. “I dealt in kids, Stakar. _Kids._ ”

He stepped into the room, boot soles crunching on the lush blue carpet. He was out-of-place in Stakar’s cabin: a red buoy that slipped its mooring and bobbed alone in a tastefully gilded navy sea.

Stakar held his gaze in the glass. They were on the outskirts of charted space, the stars so faint that the abyss acted as a blank black mirror.

“You atoned.”

“What? By bein’ a shitty dad to one brat? Or by almost dyin’? Bet yer sorry I didn’t finish the job an'“ -

“Stop.” Stakar turned, finally. Yondu’d been waiting for that. But as usual, once he had what he wanted he wished he could give it back again. The sag of Stakar's heavyset face was almost too much for Yondu to bear. “Stop, Yondu. Stop.”

He strode towards him. It weren’t no magical cure-all when his arms draped around him. The clamps twisted into Yondu’s greymatter didn’t relinquish their grip, didn't let those backed-up clods of grief and self-hatred come thundering loose.

That was good. He’d hate for Rocket’s nonsense-talk about _crying_ to be justified.

Yondu stood there, hunched and clench-fisted, in an oblivion of his mind’s own making. He didn’t reciprocate the embrace, but he dropped his forehead to rest over the blaze on Stakar’s chest.

They stayed like that a while. Not nearly long enough to make up for decades of blocked comm-signatures and festering grudges and the occasional drunk holocall – _I just wanna come home, thas all; please, cap’n, please, jus’ lemme come home._

Yondu was first to break away. Over the years since their last hug-session, Stakar had picked up enough people skills to let him go.

Thank flark. Considering this ongoing nonsense with Rocket, trapped was the last thing he wanted to feel.

“I got a question for ya,” he said, then again after clearing the choke from his throat. “Just one question.”

Stakar nodded. “Anything.”

He was The One Who Knows. Capital letters an' all. He had access to his own memories a billion times over, lived and relived in every conceivable way. It was a blessing and a curse. For one thing – the _boredom._ Yondu’d fucked up enough; last thing he wanted was to do it all again, and again and again and again ad infinitum, until whichever cosmic being had overlooked the Stakar-shaped wrinkle on the surface of time got off their celestial commode and ironed it flat again.

And secondly, having lived your life incalculable times gave you a false sense of security. You thought that nothing could shock you. When it did, you were flummoxed.

Stakar’s eyes made perfect circles in his head.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Yondu sighed and took it from the top.

“I’m hookin’ up with Rocket,” he said. Paused to let that sink in and continued. “He keeps doin’ this thing I don’t like – somethin’ I really, _really_ fuckin’ hate, actually.”

Careful, careful. Couldn’t get too carried away. He didn’t want to wind up back with that psychiatrist, being implored to _lie down on the couch, Mr Udonta, and please don’t kill my receptionist again._

Yondu shook his head. He forged onwards.

“Anyways, I wanna know how to make him stop. An’ I figured... Hey, your thing with Aleta lasted years, right?”

“We broke it off after our children died and we were no longer forced to occupy the same body.” Yondu waved the flat response away.

“Still. Ya kept it goin’ a decent time, Ogord. Enough to know a few tricks of th’trade. How’d ya do it? How’d ya tell her to quit hurtin’...“ No, not hurting. Yondu corrected himself with all due haste – too late to stop concern flashing in Stakar’s eyes. “I- I mean, y’know. To stop her doin’ stuff that makes ya. Uncomfortable.”

That didn’t sound great either, but Yondu was no walking thesaurus. Stakar warily clasped his shoulder.

“We used safewords, Yondu. I’m sure there’s a datapad with details...”

“Shit! No, not like that. Nothin’ like that. Stars.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Wear that big fake smile. Stakar was fooled – seemed Yondu hadn’t lost his mojo after all. It was just Rocket, that was all. The damned Rat, with his whiskery smirk and teasing eyes, and his ability to read Yondu like he was a stars-damned light romance datapad.

“Just a thing that bugs me,” he said, and internally pumped his fist when his voice didn’t waver. “He’s a sensitive kid, y’know. Don’t wanna upset him.”

Stakar’s eyebrows rose by a doubtful inch. “If there’s one thing Aleta wasn’t, it’s sensitive. I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

“Dammit. Yer right.” Yondu snapped his fingers. “I need to be askin’ her how she dealt with you!”

Silence. Shit – had he overstepped? No. Stakar wasn’t glowing. At least, not with starfire. He broke out a smile for the first time in Yondu’s recent memory.

“I’ve missed your lip, son.”

Yondu sensed another hug pending. He clasped his hands behind his back. If Stakar wanted to cuddle him some more, he was gonna have to take initiative.

“I’ve heard me an' Aleta got similar taste in insults.”

“And I’m just as in the dark about how to deal with her as I am with you.”

Yondu swallowed. “That’s quite the revelation. You ain’t gonna say you gotta kill me now, are ya?”

Stakar shook his head. “You’ve been watching too many Terran movies. I’ve sampled every known timeline, loved Aleta in infinite different ways. But here and now? She’s still a mystery to me. And it’s the mystery which holds the delight.”

Yondu shook his head. “Don’t need bullshit, Ogord. Need an answer.”

“My font of wisdom isn't especially deep in matters of the heart. You and Rocket – that’s certainly one eventuality I have yet to stumble across, in the unfolding wonder that is our multiverse.”

Yondu folded his arms, unsure whether he should be offended. Stakar continued before he could make up his mind:

“But I can tell you that a relationship constructed on lies won't last. Whether you’re in this galaxy or the dimension several side-shuffles to the left, that fact holds true.”

It was an answer, of sorts. Drowned by Stakar’s quasi-mystical crud, but an answer nevertheless. Yondu nodded to himself. He submitted to another soul-crushing hug, thumped his chest, and left.

 

* * *

 

 

Pinned.

Overpowered.

Lost in the sensation; the curve of their bodies, the stink of their sex, the trail of delicate clawtips over warm blue pouchflesh.

It went against every notion of strength that Yondu had ever been taught, from the slave ring to Stakar's clans and beyond, to let a little creature like Rocket take control.

Perhaps that was why Yondu liked it so much. Why he got off on being putty in Rocket's clever paws.

He'd belonged to too many people, over his long and chequered past – longer than he cared to admit. They each molded him in their individual ways: made him strong, made him tough, made him a warrior, a Ravager, a pariah.

But Rocket didn't own him. Rocket didn't shape him – didn't try to. They could be vulnerable together. And Yondu could relinquish control without betraying what he'd suffered to reach this point in his life, where he could claim to be _free_.

“You’re mine.”

Until Rocket said that.

Yondu sat up. He extracted Rocket from his favorite orifice, not without difficulty, and sat him down on his mattress – cosy for two and luxurious for one-and-a-half.

Rocket frowned, low lights glinting off the slick on his muzzle. “What?” he asked.

_A relationship built on lies won't last._

Yondu wet his lips – but not to whistle.

“I don’t like that,” he said. Then he squared his shoulders, readying himself for the explosion of fur and claws and defensive fury.

Rocket’s nose twitched in disbelief. “Don’t like me lickin' yer ass?”

“When you do that claimin’ shit.”

Rocket blinked. “Like, the scent-marking?”

So far so good. No accusations flung, no teeth bared. Yondu released his staling breath. “Nah, that’s cool. S’unfair though, you rubbin’ on my cock when you can’t actually fit on it.”

Not that he was particularly into that – a downside of a plated dick was the lack of sensation. Plus, the thought of hurting Rocket was more than enough to put him off.

“I’ll get you a furry fleshlight.” Rocket brushed the seeping little hole, tucked snug between the cheeks of Yondu's ass. “And don’t pretend you don’t like takin’ it, Blue. You look damn gorgeous, you know? Laid out for me, all mine...”

Yondu batted his hand away. “Stop.”

Rocket froze. “Wait, you _don’t_ like takin’ it?”

“No, I do, I” -

He’d expected Rocket to be the flustered one. But here he was, bright purple in the face, naked on his own bed with the only non-bot he’d ever felt truly comfortable stripping down with, spluttering his words like a stars-damned child.

Fuck.

Yondu snapped his mouth shut before he could embarrass himself further. He glowered a sizzling hole through his lap. The hand on his thigh made him jerk – not a flinch, never that.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled. “Kraglin might have my arrow, but I can still wring yer neck, you fluffy lil' shit.”

Rocket nodded sagely. “Yeah, you and Aleta definitely shop at the same threat-mart. Yondu, I ain’t looking at you like anything.”

Liar. He was pitying him. Yondu _knew_ it.

“Why don’t you look at me instead,” said Rocket.

Standing, he topped two-foot-three-inches (four if he kept his ears upright, seven if he stuck his snout in the air). He gripped Yondu’s face and turned it towards him.

“There. See?”

Yondu saw.

“Huh,” he said.

Rocket nodded.

“So no more calling you mine. That's that what’s bothering you, right?” He didn’t sound disappointed – just resigned. “Hey. Seeing as we’re having an amnesty on shit that pisses each other off – dude, you’ve gotta stop sleeping on your back. You snore like a randy bilgesnipe.”

“I flarkin’ well do not!”

“I thought you might say that, so I made recordings. Wanna listen?”

Yondu shook his head, despairing. “Why’d I ever think fuckin’ a certified genius was a good idea?”

“Because you love me,” came the prim answer. It was tongue-in-cheek and snappy and just a touch questioning, and if Yondu didn’t agree out loud, he didn’t deny it either.

“C’mon Rat,” he grunted, patting between his legs. The topic of conversation wasn’t conducive to bedroom antics; they were gonna have to start over from scratch. “You was in the middle of something.”

Rocket made a show of rubbing crumbly lube from his snout. His other hand snuck below, fondling beneath Yondu’s lowest cockplate. He located the tendon that joined cartilage to sensitive, baby-soft skin, and strummed it with a claw.

“We’re each other’s? No, that ain't catchy. I’ll work it out.”

Yondu growled, jabbing heels into the pelts. He angled up, digging between his legs, and pushed his balls clumsily to one side. “ _After_ “ -

Rocket spat. Saliva joined his lips to Yondu’s ass with a crude wet sound. “Yeah, yeah. After getting you off. Stars-damned princess…”

Yondu eased Rocket’s head down until his complaints were muffled. And that was that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you for every comment and kudos! The 'Princess' nickname is inspired, of course, by Polaris's wonderful Rocket/Yondu fic, which you must all read if you haven't already (especially _Lord Knows it would be the First Time._ Wowza. Legitimately one of my favorite fics ever, right there.)**


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